Uncharted
by Lucillia
Summary: Someone once told me that back during the Golden Age they handwaved Clark Kent's lack of Military service during WWII by having him being declared 4-F after he accidentally read the eye chart in the wrong room. What if the consequences of the misreading hadn't ended with the examination? What if Clark Kent had accidentally convinced someone who spread the word that he was "blind"?
1. Off the Charts

"Now, if you'd read the fourth line from the bottom of the chart for me Mr. Kent..." the doctor who was examining Clark Kent for possible induction into the Army said.

Feeling slightly edgy because his glasses were off and sitting on the exam table beside him and the only thing preventing anyone from realizing he was Superman was that he was in his underclothes rather than the now iconic suit, he turned towards the eye chart. As he turned towards the chart, he heard a cry for help that sounded somewhere nearby. Rapidly trying to think of an excuse that would allow him to leave his medical exam early, he used his x-ray vision in order to cut down the amount of time he'd need to search for the person who needed his assistance.

"The chart Mr. Kent." the doctor said a little impatiently.

Oh right, the chart...

There was something about the eye chart that didn't look quite right, something that was strongly niggling at him, though he didn't know why. Putting whatever it was aside, he rapidly read off the fourth line from the bottom as he'd been directed to do as he tried to come up with an excuse for why he needed to leave.

"That's...That's quite enough Mr. Kent." the doctor said, sounding rather strange. "You can leave now."

Focusing on the doctor who was giving him a pitying look, he realized what it was that had been bothering him about the eye chart. The eye chart in the exam room he was in was one of the ones with Es going in different directions. The chart he'd been reading off of had been one of the ones that had a bunch of letters in random order on it. A quick peek with his x-ray vision confirmed that he'd been reading off the chart from the next room over.

He swiftly dressed, wincing as he saw the doctor make a note recommending that he be declared 4-F. Despite the fact that it would severely curtail his duties as Superman, and the fact that he made it a rule not to kill, being denied the chance to serve his country stung somewhat, especially since it had happened due to a careless error on his part.

After running into the door on his way out in order to keep up his clumsy Clark Kent persona, he made his way out of the examination center as swiftly as he possibly could without attracting too much notice and raced off to the rescue the moment he was certain that nobody was looking at him, completely forgetting about the doctor who'd been examining him and had declared him 4-F only moments before.

Doctor Smith who'd had an Optometrist for a father sighed as he made additional notations in Kent's medical file before sending it along. The moment he'd seen Clark Kent's glasses, he'd known they were non-prescription. Frankly, when he'd first saw them, he'd thought that the glasses were part of a disguise. Today's examination however had proven otherwise.

The man's act was an excellent one, one that probably fooled just about everybody and had just about had him fooled. Because he hadn't been looking for it, he hadn't noticed the little things, like the fact that Kent had set one hand on the examination table before sitting down on it and the fact that he'd kept one foot in contact with the pile of clothing he'd left on the floor after he'd stripped down to his underwear at all times until later. If Kent hadn't slipped up and recited the wrong eye chart from memory...

Shuddering at the thought of a blind man in the military, the doctor made a final notation in the chart.

"Poor bastard," he muttered as he shut the file. "If I hadn't known any better, I would've sworn he could see."


	2. A Night on the Town

"Thought so." Doctor Smith said as he tossed the copy of the Daily Planet he'd been reading onto the bar, having gone to get a drink the moment his duties for the day were over.

"What is it?" the bartender asked, actually being one of those people who enjoyed having people confide in him, which was a large part of why he'd gotten the job.

"Kent's story is completely lacking in descriptions of a strictly visual nature." the doctor said.

This completely random statement threw the bartender for a loop, and he decided to remain silent until more information was forthcoming.

"Sure, he's got descriptions of people, descriptions that incidentally could be inferred by voice and tread amongst other things, but when it comes to little things things like color..." the doctor continued.

As Doctor Smith continued, the bartender's frown grew as he processed exactly what the man was trying to say.

"You mean that the Planet's got a blind reporter on their staff?!" the bartender exclaimed, drawing the attention of the entire room.

"Well damn," one of the patrons said, breaking the silence which was becoming somewhat uncomfortable. "That would explain why they described Little Jimmy as being 'formidable'."

Uproarious and somewhat drunken laughter followed this comment.

"It wouldn't happen to be Kent would it?" an off-duty police officer asked jokingly. "You wouldn't believe the number of times I've told him he needs to get new glasses after he's told me he hadn't seen anything when I've come across him at a crime scene."

"Actually, it would." Doctor Smith said with a shake of his head.

* * *

><p>"So, how do I look?" Lois asked as she turned around, modeling her new dress for Clark with whom she'd be going to dinner.<p>

Clark swallowed, not quite sure how to answer that. Due to the fact that he could see in a much wider spectrum than humans could, things didn't look quite the same to him as they did to everyone else. Due to the spectrum of the light that was emitted by a nearby streetlamp, there was a vague greenish? shimmer that sharply contrasted with the main color of the dress which may or may not have been Salmon Pink. In short, it completely lacked the aesthetic appeal that Lois had wanted it to have.

"You look...You look nice." he said, carefully focusing on Lois' face so the answer was the truth.


	3. Rumors Come Home to Roost

The reporter frowned. He'd heard the rumor from one of his secret sources who'd heard it at a bar the night before, supposedly having overheard the doctor who'd examined Kent himself saying it. Sure, he'd discounted it then, nearly laughed himself sick at the thought. Kent? Kent of all people blind, and faking things so well that nobody knew he was? The concept was completely preposterous.

Looking over at Kent who'd made his usual clumsy way through the office that morning, he'd laughed off what he'd heard. And then, rather than completely dismissing it like he had just about every other crazy rumor about Kent, including the one that stated that the reason the man was still a bachelor was because he wasn't interested in women, he'd started watching...

How the hell could someone who was so scatterbrained and absentminded as Kent who was always losing his pens and notebooks and having to go back for them be so rigidly neat? Everything on or in Kent's desk had its place, and if you moved anything even one tenth of an inch from its Kent ordained resting place, or say borrowed his stapler and put it back in the wrong spot, he'd give you this _look_. This highly disturbing _look _that just seemed wrong for some strange reason. Normally, Kent was a mild mannered doormat, but mess with his desk, and...

Kent was a touch typist, but then again, any typist worth their salt was a touch typist. Kent however could type without taking a single glance at what he was working on or even his notes for his story, as had been proven any number of times when someone had engaged Kent who was apparently an exceedingly skilled multitasker in conversation while he was typing up an article.

As he watched Kent in the here and now now, the reporter saw Kent pause in his blindingly fast hundred words a minute typing in order to reach over for the coffee mug that he hadn't even taken a single glance at, take a sip of his coffee, set the mug down precisely where he'd picked it up from, very carefully brush his hand across the surface of his typewriter until he'd found his home keys, and then start typing again. The reason that Kent seemed to average about a hundred words a minute despite how fast he was typing rather than a hundred and fifty or even two-hundred words a minute was because he'd have to stop every couple of seconds to push the roller back into the start position and waste another second or so searching for the home keys so he didn't end up with incomprehensible gibberish, seeing as he never once looked down at his hands or what he was typing. His entire focus seemed to be strangely directed elsewhere, somewhere that was miles away from the task at hand.

As Kent reached over to take another sip of his coffee, Lois Lane who'd made a beeline for his desk as he was picking up his mug said something to Kent. Once again, Kent acted as if she'd snuck up on him, jumped about a foot, and spilled coffee all over himself as he usually did about three times a week as he whirled to face her.

How could he not see her coming from the side? If it was him, he would've been able to see Lane coming from a mile off...

"Holy shit!" he quietly exclaimed to himself as the pieces, pieces which included things he'd seen and dismissed in the past, slotted themselves together. "That stupid rumor might actually be true."

"What rumor?" one of the boys from the mailroom who was handing out mail asked.

"That the glasses are for show, and that Kent's actually blind." he replied as he took the proffered envelope.

"Blind? How's that even possible? I've seen him reading the paper, and..." the mailroom boy started.

"Have you ever seen him with a paper that wasn't the Planet?" he asked the boy, honestly curious.

"Well no, but company loyalty and all..." the boy replied, anxious to move on.

"Is it really?" he asked, knowing that, being in the newsroom, Kent would have a very good idea what was going to be published in the next day's papers right down to the editorials and classified ads. "Is it really?"


	4. The Shifty Farm Weasel

Up until today Detective Johnston had always thought that Kent was a cowardly, shifty little weasel. Sure, he was all meek, polite, country manners when he talked to you, but there was that whole never looking you straight in the eye thing, and the fact that every time trouble of any sort reared its ugly head, Kent had nothing to give you because he'd turned his tail and fled "in order to go get help". Help that never came back when Kent did, supposedly because the help that somebody else had gone to fetch - usually Superman - had arrived on the scene first.

He'd always wondered how a man that size, a man who looked like he spent his life on the farm lifting the tractor instead of hay bales, could be such a chickenshit. If the man hadn't been so adamant that he hadn't seen anything at every crime scene he encountered him at, he would've sworn that the man was covertly working for one of Metropolis' gangs, either willingly or unwillingly. It wouldn't be the first time the Mob used blackmail in order to keep a reporter in their pocket, and he'd always assumed that a weasel like Kent would have something big to hide.

About the only reason he ever gave Kent any statements was because he'd been afraid that the shifty farm weasel would just make something up. Something that would end up putting him out of a job. That was about the only reason anyone on the force gave Kent a statement really. Now, his partner Lois however...

In light of the rumor that was going from precinct to precinct, spreading like wildfire, he found himself reassessing Kent.

There it was again...

Those careful movements some of the guys described as almost mincing when they were musing on exactly when they'd run into Kent when they raided certain "clubs". Those movements that still ended with Kent running into someone or something despite the fact that he was practically tiptoeing through the world with what looked like it should be a very light touch. Clumsy Kent everyone would say, before laughing it off. Clumsy Kent who'd just dodged a bicyclist only to run into a lamppost.

Walking up to Kent, he went to get the man's statement even though he knew full well that it would be more of nothing. Sure enough, it was the usual didn't see anything, didn't hear anything after the trouble started because I went to go get help, why don't you talk to Miss Lane, she was right in the middle of it _again._ All of it said with that shifty sideways glance that looked slightly to the left of him, not giving him a clear view of the man's eyes.

"Why don't you look me in the eye when you say that Kent?" he said daringly, wanting to see Kent's eyes, to see for himself that the man wasn't blind and that this was yet another stupid rumor, like the one that went around that the shifty bastard was actually Superman, which was why he always left before Superman appeared.

There was a slight flinch, a half second's hesitation, and then Kent turned and looked him straight in the eyes. The man's eyes were almond shaped almost as if he were hiding some Oriental blood, which would explain the midnight black hair with the faint fox red highlights. Those almond shaped eyes were a bright blue however. That, and there was something utterly wrong with them which the glasses did little to hide. Something utterly wrong with them that he couldn't put his finger on.

One of the officers standing directly behind Kent pulled a butterscotch out of his pocket, and Kent turned towards him and jokingly asked if he had enough for everybody, completely breaking the moment right when he'd just about put his finger on the answer. Kent's eyes weren't...weren't...

"Something wrong?" an officer who'd apparently witnessed the exchange asked. Looking over, he saw it was Michaelson.

"It was like he was looking through me, not at me." he finally said when his mind which had been desperately scrabbling for an answer hit upon one it was satisfied with.

"What?" Michaelson asked, looking slightly confused.

"Damn sneaky son of a bitch!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Michaelson asked, looking even more confused.

"Bastard's been helping us the entire time." he said as things slotted into place. "Can you imagine what would happen if we got Kent on the stand as a witness and the Defense went and asked him what the perp was wearing or what color his hair or eyes were? The perp would walk so fast that he'd leave a flaming trail behind him on his way out of the courtroom."

"You mean...?" Michaelson asked as he watched Kent interview Wilson.

"I can tell you one thing, there's absolutely nothing wrong with his ears." he said. "He_ heard _Wilson pulling that candy out of his pocket."

For the first time, he found himself genuinely liking Kent rather than faking friendliness in order to get the man off his back and keep him from writing something about him that was career ending. Sure, Kent was a sneaky farm weasel, but he was _their _sneaky farm weasel.


	5. Interrogation

Clark flinched as yet another member of the Daily Planet's staff who'd believed that wild rumor that was going around Metropolis had tried to "help" him. Said help had involved getting close enough to touch him in order to mop up a coffee stain that had been a result of his "clumsiness". Far from being due to blindness, the reason for his clumsiness was because he didn't want anyone associating his Clark Kent Daily Planet Reporter persona with his Superman persona. It happened occasionally, and when it did, he'd sabotage things so the person who'd made the association would either disbelieve their conclusions or be disbelieved by everyone else if they persisted in staying the "Clark Kent is Superman" course.

He didn't know what was worse, the pitying looks from the people who had honestly come to believe he was blind and cited any number of his more interesting quirks as evidence for why this was so, or the _speculation _coming from the people who'd come to the belief that he'd deliberately sabotaged his induction exam because Clark Kent very obviously wasn't blind. While they generally hit close to the mark when it came for exactly why he'd attempted his failed induction into the army in the first place, the reasons behind it which they were _insinuating_ weren't anywhere near close to accurate. While he would love to serve his country as Clark Kent, and had even had some brief fantasies of doing so after leaving the recruiter's office, the truth was that he'd only gone down to the recruiter's office in the first place because of the questions about why an obviously healthy young man like him wasn't signing up.

"So Kent," one of the up and coming reporters asked as he leaned in close, looking him up and down in a manner that very obviously wasn't flirtatious. "I heard from a source in Kansas that you're _adopted_. Any idea where your _real_ parents were from?"

It was clear which camp Rogerson belonged to. Time to nip this in the bud before Rogerson spread it around that he was German, or worse, considering the Germanic origins of many of the Daily Planet's staff and what happened at Pearl Harbor, part Japanese.

"There was nobody in the surrounding area when Ma and Pa found me." he said before adding a statement that was factually true, but actually added up to nothing in relation to him. "When I went on that assignment to Europe a few years back, I discovered that I had an unusually easy time learning Romany."

Rogerson gave him a strange look as he tried to process what he'd just heard.

"Let's just say the Nazis aren't very fond of Gypsies, so there's no risk of me ever siding with them." he said, true, and true, but for reasons not related to his non-existent "Gypsy" heritage, though their dislike of anyone who didn't fit the Aryan ideal was one of the numerous reasons he didn't like the Nazis. "Besides, no matter where my parents came from, I'm American. If not born, certainly raised."

With that said, he made his way back to his desk, being sure not to bump into anything any more than Clark Kent usually did. The last thing he needed was to add more fuel to the fire. Either fire. As he fed a sheet of paper into his typewriter, he heard Rogerson telling everyone to watch their stuff around Kent only to get a nasty response from Fredrickson of all people. Fredrickson who was a card carrying member of the KKK.

It was as he was putting the finishing touches on a story about a recent incident that involved a bunch of idiots who couldn't tell Chinese apart from Japanese which was probably going to be buried somewhere in the middle of the paper that the men came to his desk. He could tell that both men were federal agents well before the man who was closest to him had even pulled the badge out of his pocket and showed it to him. There was something about the way they moved and dressed which, while not uniform, seemed to set them aside from ordinary law enforcement.

"Is there something I could help you with?" he asked the federal agent he recognized as working out of Metropolis' field office, having seen him at one or two bank robberies in the past.

"Could you come with us please Mr. Kent?" the man whose name escaped him at the moment asked.

"Sure." he replied, standing up and grabbing his coat, seeing as there was no other answer he could give without it appearing _suspicious_. Especially since everyone else was watching and the whispers were already starting. The Kent isn't blind, just faking it - despite the fact that he hadn't been faking it at all - camp were looking particularly vindicated.

After following the men out of the building and into a waiting car, being careful to make no sudden moves as he did so, he was driven to the FBI's Metropolis field office. Waiting for him at the office was an interrogation room rather than a cell. Since the agents weren't being actively hostile at the moment, he took this to be a good sign. Being interviewed at his own desk would've been a better one however.

"We've been getting some interesting calls about you Kent. Word on the street is that you're blind, and have been faking being sighted for years if not decades. We've been hearing other things about you however, like the fact that you're able to speak German _and_ Japanese, and that you move around a little too well for a blind man." the somewhat nondescript agent who'd shown him his badge said.

He sighed.

"I honestly don't know how that rumor got started. The first I heard about it, one of the other reporters was spreading it around the newsroom." he replied, stating the honest truth, seeing as he hadn't been there when the rumor was first spread, so he honestly didn't know how the rumor got started, though he knew the original source and why. "The rumor about me being blind is about as accurate as the one that I frequently go down to areas well known for prostitution for reasons other than gathering information for a story, or the other rumor about me being a homosexual."

Recognizing the look that was crossing the other agent's face, he made a quick addition to his statement. "Before you ask, no I don't engage the services of prostitutes of either gender, and the one woman I want to notice me doesn't give me the time of day as anything other than her coworker."

The other agent started snickering at this.

"So, you wouldn't mind answering a few questions and undergoing an eye exam?" the first agent asked smoothly, apparently knowing he'd had him trapped either way and that the only way out of the situation was if he was completely clean. Either that, or an actor who was so good that he managed to completely fool a medical doctor and the federal government.

He resisted the urge to flinch knowing that this could turn really ugly really quickly if he didn't comply, especially since there was a war on. The usual rules of law tended to fall by the wayside during times of war, especially in regards to suspected enemy agents.

"Sure." he replied, trying to keep both his nervousness and anything that might be UnClarkish out of his bearing.

"So, would you mind telling me what happened during your induction exam?" the agent asked.

"Everything seemed to be going normally enough." he honestly stated. "Then during the visual exam which I was slightly nervous about - I wouldn't say I'm colorblind per se, but...- well, I thought I heard something outside and was thinking about looking into it after the exam was over, and well I don't have a perfectly clear memory of what happened next, but the doctor told me the exam was over."

The agent's eyebrows raised significantly at this. The other agent was giving him an odd look as well.

"Bring the doctor in Tom," the first agent said, and the second agent moved to comply.

"That has got to be the most creative bit of yarn spinning I've ever seen. And, I have a feeling that if you said under oath that every _part _of your story was true, you wouldn't be perjuring yourself." the agent who was left in the room with him said looking slightly impressed.


	6. Loose Lips Can Sink Ships andor Careers

Before anything more could be said Tom arrived with a man with a vaguely military bearing who was carrying a doctor's bag. As he watched the two men enter the room, he did his best to hide his nervousness over the upcoming eye exam and what it might reveal. He'd never had his eyes examined very closely before, and now he would be seeing exactly how close they were to those of a human despite his _abilities_. As he did his best to hide his anxiety, the doctor who was clearly an Optometrist started bringing out the tools of his trade.

The eye exam started off normally enough with him reciting an entire eye chart right down to the bottom line for the doctor, and then came the next bit...He did his best not to flinch back as the man came in for a close examination of the interior structure of his eye in order to check for cataracts and the like. As he watched the face that was hovering directly in front of his over the course of several seconds, the doctor's expression went from clinical to downright fearful.

Not as close to human as he'd previously thought then...

"What are you?!" the doctor asked. "I know what the inside of a human eye is supposed to look like, and that sure as hell wasn't it!"

This caused the two agents to jerk to attention, their hands reaching for their weapons. He understood why though. People could accept him being _different_ dressed as Superman. Superman's outfit marked him as something else, something other. Dressed as a normal member of society, he suddenly became an_ infiltrator_. Considering what would happen if they tried to shoot him, and the fact that he wouldn't lie about what happened, things could get very messy very quickly.

"Can I trust you to be discreet?" he asked, knowing that he had little choice in the matter at the moment, and it was entirely possible that he couldn't trust them. Those with power over others tended to be more easily corrupted than those who didn't, and this was a very valuable secret.

All three men eyed him with wariness and suspicion. Neither agent took their hands from where their weapons were holstered.

Sighing, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt enough to reveal the blue of his Superman outfit underneath. All three men began to relax at this. Superman was familiar to them, safe in a way any other non-human wandering around their society wouldn't be. Everyone knew that Superman was there to help.

"Why a newspaper reporter?" Tom asked with an openly curious expression, being the first to break the silence.

"Aside from local law enforcement and the government, newspaper reporters are generally the first to hear things and often hear things well before the law does. That, and lives wouldn't be at risk if I abandon my work in order to go rescue somebody who's in trouble elsewhere." he replied, giving several honest reasons for why, and leaving out all the personal reasons for why he'd pursued the profession.

"If you'll excuse me Superman, I need to go and make some calls." the agent who wasn't Tom said as he left the room, leaving him sitting there with Tom and the doctor who was apparently either a military doctor, or ex-military.

None of them seemed to know what to say, and the doctor who'd probably received the shock of his life that day ended up excusing himself after a few minutes, presumably in order to request that he be allowed to leave. Sitting there in the room with Superman after you've accidentally outed him had to be uncomfortable. It was uncomfortable enough for him that people he didn't really know or trust knew he was both Clark Kent and Superman.

After about another hour and a half of uncomfortable silence that was mostly spent staring at Tom who stared back at him, someone who was apparently top brass and taken charge of the situation appeared. He vaguely recognized the man from a report that Lois had done. By all accounts, the man had a reputation for being as much of a straight shooter as a military officer could be.

Introductions were made, and soon they began hammering out what Superman would be doing for the war effort, seeing as it was unthinkable that Superman wouldn't be doing anything. Both Tom and Not Tom had remained in the room for some reason despite the fact that they would normally have been told on no uncertain terms to leave by the military, and both were providing surprisingly sound suggestions.

"There's one problem with all of this." he said as the man was debating over whether he'd be more useful in the Pacific theater where he'd previously sabotaged Japanese shipyards while on assignment in Asia with Lois or on the European Front. "Clark Kent can't just disappear, especially not now, considering... It would be completely suspicious, and probably start a panic about there being Axis infiltrators in our nation's news offices. Good reporters would be falsely accused during the ensuing witch hunt, and people won't trust any of the news they see or hear. And, if you can't trust the news, who can you trust? I can always talk Perry into sending me 'on assignment' to where I need to go. He got me into Japan after all."

Sure, he had selfish motivations for keeping Clark Kent around, ones that he wouldn't state here, but there was also a practical element in keeping Clark Kent alive. An element that he hadn't even considered until the moment he'd been faced with the ending of Clark Kent and he stopped to think about what that would mean to him and everyone around him.

The other men in the room all gaped at him. Apparently, the thought of what would happen if Clark Kent disappeared, especially after last being seen with federal agents, hadn't even crossed their minds. An uncomfortable look crossed the face of the agent who wasn't Tom as he began imagining the consequences.

"There's still that exam that has to be explained away." Tom piped up after several moments of tense silence.

"Colorblind?" the agent who wasn't Tom suggested. "You said you weren't colorblind, but there was a but there, and colorblindness would be an automatic 4-F."

"There's still that rumor that loose-lipped doctor sent winging around the city. That rumor that even people who are close to Kent and deal with him everyday are starting to believe due to some really odd habits he has." Tom said.

"How about legally blind like my mother was?" the General piped up. "When most people hear 'blind' they think 'can't see anything whatsoever'. With Legally blind, you'd need glasses to see the E at the top of the chart, but you'd be able to perceive light and dark somewhat and if there's an object very, very close to you. It would explain away any slipups regarding habits he has that blind people don't, and when he responds to things and people as if he could actually see them."

"Legally blind and colorblind, perfect." the agent who wasn't Tom said. "I'll just go and fabricate my report on Mr. Kent, so if a certain someone with the initials L.L. goes digging, she won't find a big file marked Top Secret and cause an even bigger headache, like the one she caused when she uncovered that corruption scandal we weren't even aware of."

_Well, wasn't this going to be a real clusterfu-_

"The country thanks you for your service Superman." the General said, sounding honestly sincere. "You've already done a great deal for us behind enemy lines, on the front lines, on the home front, and in the newsroom without asking anything in return."


	7. Nothing Different Whatsoever

Clark Kent born Kal-El, mostly known to the public as Superman thanks to Lois Lane wondered if the strange pressure that was building up behind his temples was what humans felt when they had a headache. Today was Clark Kent's first day of pretending to be almost completely blind as part of his cover story, and he was going to be doing this by not changing a single aspect of his Clark Kent Daily Planet Reporter persona whatsoever. That was right, he was going to be pretending to be blind by just being "himself", and not changing anything at all. Hence the headache. Or what he thought might be a headache.

If he could, he would go back in time and beat the crap out of himself for causing this.

As he made his way across the newsroom floor, being sure to be his usual self, he watched in surprise as Redford picked up the small metal trashcan he usually ran into on his way to his desk and set it on top of his desk. A small survey of the room revealed that his usual targets, including the stack of papers that Fredrickson usually kept precariously balanced at the edge of his desk were all being moved out of his way as he approached. Careful not to react to any of this, he made his way to his desk with very few of his usual accidents due to the fact that the objects usually involved in said "accidents" had been removed from his path. As he was seating himself at his desk in order to get a start on his day, there was a yell of "Kent! My office!" from Perry White.

As he made his way to the Chief's office, he watched several people hastily snatch things out of his way. Things he normally ran into, tripped over, or "accidentally" knocked over depending on how well he liked the particular coworker they belonged to at the moment. Sure, it was petty, but everyone has to have a hobby to keep themselves from going nuts, and minor destruction here tended to prevent major destruction elsewhere. The less "accident prone" he was in the office, the more aggressive he was as Superman due to the fact that all of the little annoyances would pile up if he let them and "accidentally" destroying someone's stapler generally kept him from punching them in the face, since as far as he was concerned, they were even.

Ma and Pa Kent may have raised a good kid, but contrary to popular belief, they didn't raise a doormat.

All too soon, after only one accident involving a run-in with Rogerson that ended with more coffee on the other guy than on him, he was in Perry's office standing in front of his desk.

"Legally blind, huh?" Perry said somewhat sarcastically. "Well, that explains why you keep crashing through walls when the door's two feet away."

"What was that Chief?" he asked, unable to believe he'd heard what he'd thought he'd heard. Perry White might've been a reporter, and a damn good one at that, before he was the Editor in Chief, but none of the other reporters here had recognized him for what he was, so there was no reason for Perry to know who he was either. Odds were that Perry had meant to say "into" rather than "through". Getting his coat slammed in the Men's room door and running into a wall were things he generally did about once a month and once or twice a year respectively.

"Nothing Kent." Perry said a little too quickly. "I called you in here to say that if the quality of your work drops any due to your 'blindness', you're going to be out of a job, star reporter or not. I'm already catching flack from my superiors over hiring you in the first place despite the fact that your articles sell papers."

"There's no need to worry on that account Chief, I'm the same as I've always been." he said truthfully.

"Good." Perry grumbled. "Now get out of here!"

Sighing, he turned and left the room, making his way across the bullpen in which people were hastily moving objects out of his way and towards his desk, running into Lois' desk on the way. The small collision jarred the desk slightly and caused coffee to slosh out of the mug that was resting next to the typewriter and onto the desk. Lois wasn't usually a target, but he was having a bad day, and he was still a bit upset about that last rescue where she'd gotten herself back in danger less than five minutes after he'd pulled her out of danger. Sure, he loved the woman, but she could be completely infuriating, especially when she didn't stop and take two seconds to consider her own safety while in pursuit of a story.

Once he was seated back at his desk, he grabbed his notebook. Even though he never actually lost them contrary to the excuses he gave when running off to turn into Superman, he tended to go through notebooks twice as fast as other reporters. The reason for this was the reason why he rarely wrote by hand if he didn't have to, having even gone so far as to have purchased a typewriter for himself back during High School with the money he'd earned helping out at neighboring farms. That reason was that even though he tried to keep a delicate touch, he almost always darn near drove the pencil or pen he was using through the paper, leaving massive grooves and indentations on the sheets directly below the one he was writing on which made them darn near unusable. For most of his notes, he used a pencil since they were cheaper to replace than a fountain pen, and he could just simply re-sharpen the pencil if he snapped the tip. With a fountain pen however...

As he was flipping his nearly filled notebook to the correct page, Lois came up to him and snatched it out of his hand. He allowed her to do so, rather than risk ripping the paper or possibly even the cover. He had no idea what she was looking for, but after a couple seconds of flipping through the book, her eyebrows went up. Stopping at a random page on which there was writing, she began tracing her finger along his notes which were in longhand rather than the shorthand other reporters such as Lois herself preferred. Due to his superspeed, he had absolutely no problem quickly taking down notes or dictation, and therefore had never really needed shorthand. He knew it, and knew how to read it, he just didn't use it himself.

With a muttered "You could practically read it by touching it", Lois handed his notebook back. He rapidly flipped through the notebook, bringing it back to the correct page only to discover that while Lois had been fiddling with his notebook, she'd ripped out that page. Considering the ongoing competition they had regarding stories, and the fact that Lois was well aware of the fact that he'd snatched a number of stories she'd been working on out from under her, he knew exactly why she'd stolen that page. Fortunately, as Lois had pointed out, a person could practically read his notes just by touching them, and Lois had forgotten to rip out the page beneath his writing.

Chuckling lightly at Lois' antics, he got to work. Many people would've been annoyed or downright upset by what Lois had done, but he wasn't. He knew exactly what Lois was trying to say when she'd taken that page from his notes. As far as she was concerned, despite his "disability" being revealed, nothing was different between them.

Every time he began to forget exactly why he loved Lois in the first place, she'd go and do something like this and remind him. As well as treating him like a serious rival rather than a joke as most of the office did despite his writing ability and his status as one of the Daily Planet's star reporters, she was one of the few people that wasn't a criminal who dared to stand up to Superman.


End file.
